


Ashen

by Swayley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Translation, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3321650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swayley/pseuds/Swayley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After some time, people notice the world is not divided between black and white, right or wrong. Everything is ashen, are ashes. As the wreckage left by the war, as the morality of a mother who protects her son at all costs, as the eyes of someone who always wanted to save.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Life Goes On

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Cinzas](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/97478) by Luciana. 



> This story does not belong to me. Its original text was written in portuguese and I have the author permission to translate to English.  
> All the characters, with few exceptions, belongs to J.K. Rowling.  
> Thanks for reading!

**Chapter One: Life Goes On**

_March, 1998_

 

         _Rain is something funny._ She knew it was an awkward thought to have considering the moment, however, it was exactly what she was thinking over the last few instants, nested and embracing her own knees on a threshold of a window while observing those heavy raindrops punishing the glass. Rain had a bunch of facets, that could make you feel truly alive — when the little raindrops fall on your face and make you smile with the feeling of being against them, for example — or either could ruin all your hopes, draining through you as the water that drenches your clothes. And leave you alone.

         It is grey; might be good, might be bad, depending on the angle of the viewer, on the moment.

         The girl used to enjoy observing it because the rain did not translate the Manichean reality of the last times; it worked almost as a pressure valve that did not involve butterbeer or some kind of illicit activity.

         This introspective girl in particular was called Ginevra Molly Weasley, sixteen years old, currently living in a world trying to balance itself on a tightrope before a breathless audience. No one could say for sure on which side the world would swing.

         Her life had a white side, joyous. A side capable of wake her up early in the morning and shout to the world once this “crisis” is over, she would be Harry Potter’s wife, the Boy-That-Kept-Surviving. It just did not come to her mind the hypothesis of, after so long and after so many fights, things ending up badly. It was a matter of destiny, of _justice_. The white side of her life also covered her family, the ones that encompassed her with love as a cocoon encompasses a butterfly about to transform — even if the comparison was not _that good_ , since growing up with six elder brothers gave her the graciosity of a hippopotamus, not a butterfly’s. But she could not care less, as long as they were by her side. As long as Harry was by her side too.

         And then, there was the dark side of her life, somehow always lurking, waiting for the slightly blunder. A black side that made her almost die during her first year in Hogwarts due to a damn enchanted diary, which also put the whole school in danger. The dark side that made her literally run for her life in the Ministry of Magic on her fourth year, and the responsible for the tense atmosphere leading to a nearly unbreathable air. The black side who took Mad-Eye Moody in June, Dumbledore a year before, disfigured Bill. The dark side that kept pushing her away from _him_. She missed Harry so much that sometimes she could quite suffocate. Either for his absence as for the fact he was threaded somewhere with Ron and Hermione while she was condemned to stay in Hogwarts. And the sorrow rooted on her chest was because she was certain of giving all the possible proofs of her capacity and devoutness. At the end, she would never be anything but the youngest sister, fragile girl who needs protection. And she loathed that.

         They have never treated Hermione this way, and for “they” she delineated as half of the wizarding world.

         Nevertheless, she kept sustaining her point, doing her bit. At least, it was what she has been trying to do in Hogwarts, since she left The Burrow at the beginning of past year’s September. Alongside the Dumbledore’s Army (or what has remain of it), she became the Resistance’s focus opposing You-Know-Who’s influence in the school. And only Merlin knew how much this was costing: if previously detentions could sum up in boredom and never ending tediousness activities, such as dealing with dusty books and viscous animals, now the scenery has definitely changed. It was not sporadic a student coming back from those torture sessions disguised in detentions incapable of walking by themselves. That was specifically true for Neville; contrary to all Universe prognoses, he had been showing himself as a valorous leader, fulfilling her heart with tenderness in relation to him.

         This “scenery” began when she, Neville and Luna tried to steal the Godric Gryffindor’s sword at the Principal’s Office, then Severus Snape’s. They had been sent to the Forbidden Forest and their visits to Hogsmeade were banished; Ginny concluded that would be the summit on detentions terms to receive, but thereupon, the school’s disciplinary sector got under Alecto and Amycus Carrow’s charge, who took the teacher posts of “Muggles Studies” and the newly created “Dark Arts”. Ginny felt shivers down her spine onward the memory. Now students were obliged to practice Unforgivable Curses on those whom were in detention. Ginny’s stomach tossed and turned onward the idea.

         The worst part, beyond not having any news from the outside world, was enduring the brothers Carrow’s oddities. Hogwarts became similar to a cemetery full of lost souls wandering through the halls. Obviously, _genuinely_ were lost souls wandering there, although the context was pretty different.

         Their last brilliant idea was promoting some kind of fraternization, aiming proves the wizarding world was united under one and only flag. _The four big houses of Hogwarts must be united_ , a crystal signal exclaiming there was no room for disparity and plurality; this “fraternization” would be the first step towards homogeneity. Of course, the gentle touch of masochism had been left to the Carrow brothers’ careful hands, who found out very interesting (not to say hilarious) determine the couples for the occasion, creating potential embarrassment and punishment situations for those involved. It seemed unnecessary underline that refusing to attend “could” bring more troubles than benefits. Furthermore…

         “Hey, Redhead.”

         She had been taken abruptly from her thoughts.

         On those individual hours all the elder brothers forbidden vocabulary and the need of having a Quidditch wooden bat in hands used to pop up on her mind. Blaise Zabini appeared from a shadowy corner on the hall, giving the impression of being ready to one of those disguised sessions of torture, in the case, disguised as a lovely Ball. Still was ghastly uphold a polished conversation with him; howbeit, his presence was way more comfortable than a Carrow Brothers’.

         “Hello for you as well, Zabini. Good to know it’s very typical stalk defenseless girls through the halls among those who received a pure-blood marvelous education.” She said emphasizing the _“marvelous education”_.

         “First of all, you’re also a pure-blood, in spite of everything. Secondly, if you are a defenseless girl, I’m sure You-Know-Who uses nasal congestion charms.” He said with his steady voice. “And I’ve already witnessed one or two consequences of your jinxes to verify for myself how much defenseless you can be.”

         She bit her lower lip to avoid an unwanted smile. If someone had told her a few months ago she would have something near to a friendship with Blaise Zabini, she would give a lift herself to this someone directly to St. Mungus. In defiance of being even more cloistered than his Slytherin pals, Blaise had never hid his scorn for muggle-borns, although the fact of always demonstrate disdain for every single one, regardless of the origin, counted on his favor. The truth is Blaise Zabini had been a relief when showing up with his natural acid retorts, cynicism and his constant behavior. Ginny, not for the first time, pondered that was exactly what was missing on her life latterly: _Constancy._

         Evidently she was far from assuming Blaise Zabini as the new paladin of the fight against the Dark Lord, able to forge a scar on the forehead and defeat Death Eaters. Perhaps what attracted her about his presence was precisely that — she was so familiar with a world “good versus evil” that finding someone who did not swing to a side or another made her curiosity level rise noticeably. Therefore, since the detention in which she was compelled to stay under his supervision (what supposedly should violate some moderate types of torture), their acquaintanceship increased considerably. He was very pleasant to chat with, as long as the fact of him being an egocentric bastard was ignored.

         In essence, Blaise was the embodiment of selfishness, purely. He was not loyal to any ideology, to any cause. He did not appreciate fundamentalisms of any kind; neither would stick his neck for someone. He wanted (and he would, she had the feeling) to be on the winning side. But at least he was fun and he could make her forget, for briefs moments, about the huge crap also known as living in the middle of a war.

         One thing Ginny has learnt is, when in war, you cannot choose your allies; you simply avail those who are given to you. She jumped from the window’s threshold, stretched out in one of her usual feline movements, and started to walk.

         “Isn’t courteous wisecrack on the hallways nowadays, Blaise” she sighed, still avoiding a smile. She did not feel it was _right_ to smile while Harry and Rony were starving and freezing or while the Dumbledore’s Army was being hunted.

         “As much as isn’t courteous to wear a brown dress when you have this flaming hair. You have the appearance of a rust spot” He wrinkled his aristocratic nose on her direction. “But this how life goes on, my dear gryffindor. Good taste is just like money. Ones have a lot and other ones have so few…” He smiled maliciously.

         She compared her coy brown dress with golden lace on the sleeves and hem to his fancy tailor-made suit. It was of a dark-blue that matched with his chocolate and comely skin. For a short period of time, she had the sensation of wearing a dress tailor-made to her grandmother. But it was a _very_ short period of time. That was not the moment to get attached to futilities.

         The relevant fact was: she did not care about Blaise’s retorts anymore, mainly the ones about her financial condition because those were usually followed by some comment even poisoner concerning someone else, once again regardless the origin, financial condition or status. For example, the comments he always did concerning Pansy Parkinson and her limited intelligence.

         Ginny took advantage of the gap.

         “Then I’m very glad your mate has a lot of money but none good taste” She said, half serious, half smiling. “I bet you’ll have an unforgettable night with Parkinson.”

         She automatically felt he got uncomfortable. “ _Touché._ It doesn’t amuse me scavenging other’s people garbage” He said with a bit of his proud wounded and an absolute malicious tone. “Even if I’m strongly guessing Malfoy won’t care much about what I’m going to do or not with Parkinson, since he will have the pleasure of a far more interesting companionship.”

         Ginny blushed instantly — of anger. It was hard enough to deal with the obligation of attending the Ball, but choosing Draco Malfoy as her mate was equivalent to being cursed. Since the end of the last year, his image only brought knots to her stomach. _Dumbledore._ His fault. _Bill._ His fault. Grief in Hogwarts. _Everything_ was his and that damn Vanishing Cabinet fault.

         After the couples announcing, her mood got pretty bad for an entire week. She has finally attested the veracity of “Nothing is bad enough to the point it cannot get worse”.

         Anyways, it seemed the Malfoy’s influence inside the Death Eaters circle was outworn. There was no doubt she was being punished by the mate choose; the acquaintanceship with Zabini may had caused the impression of a slight inclination to the Dark Side, but this impression was very microscopic once it was took under advisement her family still blood-traitor and, after all, she had been Harry Potter’s girlfriend.

         On the other hand, the punishment to Malfoy could only mean one thing: his family was in trouble with You-Know-Who. After what happened at the Ministry of Magic and at the Astronomy Tower, something went definitely wrong for them. Probably was the fact of Draco’s failure on his attempt to kill Professor Dumbledore, in spite of him being the responsible for all the chaos caused in Hogwarts that night. Anyhow, Ginny could only conjecture.

         “Oh, yes, his mate is a very distinctive person. It’s a _shame_ that, on his conception, she worth less than a toothless grindylow.” She said absently.

         Blaise laughed. He did not laugh frequently and Ginny thought his smile made his countenance a lot blander. “So I presume his lovely mate worries about his conception?”

         Once more, her stomach tossed and turned, in the case, thanks to the nausea provoked by Zabini’s joke. She could not depart the problems Malfoy had created on the end of the school past year, the injuries Bill had suffered and she could not depart how Harry broke up with her on Dumbledore’s funeral.

         “Easier for me to worry about Snape’s conception about my dress.” She said more grudgingly than expected. The one sin of Blaise Zabini was him being an egocentric bastard, and for the meanwhile, he did not deserve a double shot of Weasley temperament.

         “Hum, I somewhat doubt his taste can be entrusted. However, you can ask him for some hair washing advice… Or not.” He has come back to his introspective way and Ginny got surprised, not for the first time, of how Blaise did not seem to care about anyone but himself.

         Raising the dress hem until an acceptable height which could allow her walk a little faster, Ginny accelerated the steps towards The Great Hall, allocated to host the “fraternization”. Draco Malfoy did not bother himself in getting in touch with her, notwithstanding she did not as well. As the big majority of couples was arranged to dissatisfy those involved, the mutterings spread through the hallways said the best to do was meeting at The Great Hall’s door, show up a bit to the Carrow Brothers,  make a just-sucked-sour-lemon face and get out there as sooner as possible.

         Turning the hallways, with a quiet Zabini on her heels, Ginny kept focused on the end of the evening. She was walking faster and faster as if it could anticipate the wished end, with her shoes echoing against the Castle’s solid rock walls. Blaise, on his turn, was walking with much more elegance and flippancy, not even putting some effort in following her. When both turned the hallway which provided access to a couple of rooms, they saw two silhouettes dragging a third, which looked more unconscious than awake. In a certain way, Zabini’s presence gave her the courage to get close. Onward the scene, Ginny held her breath.

         Neville was laid between two big guys, staggering to his feet. A cut was bleeding on his right eye, while the left one was so swollen that could be considered as a simple line inserted on a purple sea of protuberances, also known as the right side of his face. He seemed to be wearing a gala suit, but it was so damaged Ginny would not be surprised if Neville told her he was just hit by the Hogwarts Express. After drinking five bottles of firewhiskey.

         “In the name of Merlin, Neville! What happened to you?!” She said gasping, getting closer.

         The troglodytes who carried him (who Ginny recognized as Vincent Crabbe and David Urquhart) tried to block her way, but the imposing figure of Blaise Zabini right behind her as a statue somehow intimidated further reactions on the part of the "guards”.

         “Oh, hey there Gin!” He said with difficulty. “It’s no big deal, trust me. All I did was conveying my considerations to the Carrows about what I think of this fraternization under our conditions. I guess they didn’t appreciate my manifestation.” He finished the sentence with a mixture of coughing and laughter, which made his body swing inertly between the troglodytes.

          Ginny instantly stared her dress, ready for a Ball, and felt as the worst and deplorable person ever, submitting herself to such whimsicalities coming from lunatics. She had the urge to rip out her dress, wield her wand and scream to the world she would fight, as her brothers, as Neville.

         Neville, already being dragged again to wherever was his destination, noticed her reaction and as much as his condition allowed, he said gently: “Relax, Gin. Each one of us has its own manner to fight. It doesn’t mean not fighting at all.” He ceased with a wink, but its effect was totally neutralized by the aspect of his eye. Afterward, Crabbe dealt a violent kick on the right leg of Neville, who immediately fell on the ground as a huge sack of oat. The slytherin laughed as he would on those rare occasions when someone tells him a joke and he understands it. Ginny tried to react, but the hand groping for her wand could not be as fast as the Zabini’s hand, holding hers.

         His stone cold look obviously was saying “don’t do anything you can regret later”. Ginny disentangled her hand from his sharply and went walking quickly towards the opposite direction, clearly leaving the message “don’t you dare follow me” in the air. Blaise was terrific when dealing with unsaid words. She would find a way to get to Neville after the stupid fraternization.

         Ginny tightened her eyes trying to avoid the tears. Remembered of her first ball at Hogwarts, when Neville invited her, and it strangely seemed to have happened ages ago. She missed that age. She missed her room with those _The Weird Sisters_ posters on the walls. She missed her mother when washing the dishes with just a wave of her wand, in a dance so familiar to her. She missed Luna, who has been kidnapped in the Hogwarts Express by Death Eaters on Christmas. She missed Hermione, she missed the twins, and she missed _Harry_. Merlin, she missed Harry so much. She missed everything she had lost since Dumbledore’s funeral.

         She shook her head, keeping in mind Neville’s idea. Yes, she would fight. But one battle at once. At that moment, she needed to survive the evening which probably would result in one of the memories she would gladly dump in a Pensieve hereafter.

         Ginny slowed her steps, taking a breath; tried to pay attention to the details of the room which preceded The Great Hall’s entrance — whilom it has been decorated so gorgeously for the Yule Ball, on the Triwizard Tournament year. There was not as much sparkle and illumination, but the most accentuated difference was, definitely, people’s face. Erstwhile so happy and full of expectations about the music, the food, the whisperings of the next day. Now their faces only showed anxiety and disgust, waiting for their undesired mates.

         She thought, sniffing between weeping and desperate humor, that place was comparable to the St. Mungus waiting room; where people did not know very well what they would find in the room aside, but they could affirm it would not be something good. The Great Hall entrance was open; however, Ginny could not see clearly what it had inside. At the moment she was about to squint her eyes and probe her inspection, her attention was detoured.

         There he was, standing, turned back, and leaning against one of the pillars responsible for the ceiling sustentation, monstrously high on that part of the Castle.

         The time has arrived. The time of dealing with Draco Malfoy.


	2. ...Ball?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Before reading, allow me to thanks to all of you who read, left a kudo or a review. Sorry for taking so long to post the second chapter, meh. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy it!  
> Fondly,  
> Sway

**Chapter Two: …Ball?**

 

         She raised her head as if the weight of the world was on her nape and then walked towards him, convinced the best she could do for her loved ones was being strong. Thought about how much it was ironic Ginny Weasley herself feeling so absurdly alone and feckless when she was known for her strength and impulsiveness. And the Dementors’ presence around the school was obviously not helping her mood. She was surrounded by Dementors, Death Eaters and ferrets. _Perfect_.

         She stopped halfway and grimaced.

         There was no more viable way to defer the encounter, or confrontation, as her mind kept insisting in define. He was standing on a kind of tense position, and facing The Great Hall’s entrance, probably trying to capture anything coming from there. Being where she was, out of his sight, had two distinctive aspects; the negative one was she would be deferring the inevitable and postponing her torture session disguised as a Ball. The positive one was she could observe him for a little bit longer and guarantee he has not brought anything that could possibly hurt her deathly. Beyond his wand, of course. At least, she could deal reasonably well with wands.

         As usual, his outfit appeared to be of excellent quality, dark over the pale skin. She wondered if he was at least slightly aware of the fact those black clothes left on him a dreadful resemblance to a corpse. Even the savorless Slytherin green would fit better on that whitey ferret than the absolute black. She noticed the long sleeves, probably covering up his Dark Mark which identified him as a Death Eater, and felt shivers reminding of the dark masks enclaving her two years ago, at the Ministry of Magic. There were not a single hair misaligned; she got surprised he has decided to go back on old habits and apply gel on his hair, as he used to on his first years in Hogwarts, combed back perfectly — and even more surprised with the idea of remembering precisely about his hairstyle during the first years in Hogwarts. People’s mind definitely could save a lot of useless details.

         As so many others, she supposed, he also had grew; from that distance, he was almost at the same height as Ron, although he seemed slimmer. There was no sign of beard, despite of him being close to complete eighteen years old; Ginny could not figure out if it was due to the Malfoy’s barber or not. Doubtless, he was not what Ginny would have by handsome, with that overlong face, exorbitant paleness and aristocratic countenance. But still had something there, she could tell. Nothing that could propitiate a second look coming from her, however, on that night, she could not resist against her natural curiosity. She preferred thinking the interest was occurring thanks to the forced encounter. Yes, it was certainly thanks to that.

         What really drew attention to him was the fact that he did not look _young_ despite of the age. His grey eyes, typically full of arrogance and frequently begging for a punch or jinx, were opaque, as if waiting for something bad and inevitable to happen. Ginny tried to picture what could have happened to him after the battle at the Astronomy Tower. And, for the first time, she has not finished the thought with a _“If something bad has happened it was well deserved”_. The last information received when she was still in The Burrow told You-Know-Who had settled in the Malfoy Manor — undeniably a guest whose the host could not afford to dissatisfy.

         She approached, gulping. Ordered her legs to, if they did not have the courage to behave properly, at least pretend so. He felt her approaching and turned his head at her direction. His face was not demonstrating anything but an iced mask, which Ginny presumed he has learnt to exhibit during his vacation among giant snakes and lunatic wizards, a few months ago. She stayed there, standing in front of him, trying to put some defiance in her eyes, although she knew it was fruitless; at such point, she would not obtain a thing rebelling. With luck, she could end up as Neville, injured because of an unthinking act.

         And contrary to all expectations that could have been created on her mind, Draco Malfoy just held out his left hand, gloved and with the palm up, in a resigned gesture of someone who lost every battle.

         The hand kept still, standing in the air as if asking for something. It all seemed in slow-motion, precluding Ginny to find amusement in the current situation formed on her mind: a Malfoy _asking_ for something to a Weasley. Normally she would have laughed out loud, but it was also true that, normally, Draco Malfoy would not have worried himself even to look at her.

         The whole world had stopped and then she raised her right hand. When she was almost touching his, Ginny found out the reason why his eyes were drawing her attention: they were eyes of someone who was just about to cross the thin line between sanity and insanity. And when she has finally laid her hand on his, soon afterwards she realized she trembled onward her discovery. For a brief and mad period of time, she thought she could help Draco Malfoy, ask to the Order of the Phoenix to protect him, talk to Harry…

         He interrupted her scrappy thoughts by raising his eyebrow while staring her hand over his in a single clue revealing he knew she was there and he felt something awkward ran through her mind. Ginny scolded herself inwardly noticing he has felt that her hand had trembled. In a subtle movement, he began to walk, leading her, with Ginny’s small and freckled hand on his, resulting in a peculiar image, gradually being formed on her mind. She would lock up herself for a week after that just to avoid the imminent commentaries about this scene. Whether or not in the middle of a war, people tend to cling to futile pleasures induced by gossips.

         His silence did not bother her. Actually, quite the reverse; it was better that way, and once they really were obliged to do it, it was preferable to do it quick and bluntly. It was already a relief he has not said anything offensive yet, neither has tried to jinx her or practice Unforgivable Curses on her.

         They have entered in The Great Hall, lastly. The décor was not differing much from the hall’s, where the students were waiting for their mates, although it seemed more alive, what was a logical impression since The Great Hall was fuller. Ginny perceived all the ones considered as pure-blood wizards in general have chosen their mates of free and spontaneous will. The exception, of course, resided on those whom were blood-traitors, as she was. She felt her heart sinks when Neville came across her mind; he could have chosen a girl to accompany him, but instead he has chosen to protest. She remembered fondly of how they used to hide in the hallways, painting on the walls words of the Order, spreading for those who had eyes to read the Dumbledore Army still was alive in Hogwarts.

         The Hogwarts’ teachers won an honor seat next to the Headmaster at the platform placed there just for the occasion, and Ginny thought it was akin to a King’s stratum, accompanied by his most loyal subjects. She could not avoid concluding the students were playing the court jester role, as one of those muggles stories Harry told her once. It seemed some teachers had the same impression: McGonagall was sitting in such a stance that made her even more adamant than an ogre with torticollis; the plump Professor Sprout was unquiet, as if wanting nothing but the refugee of her greenhouse; and Professor Flitwick, seated above the heads of the people who were not on the stage, was appearing to be even smaller than usual, threaded in the cushion of his chair as if wanting to be anywhere else but there.

         Snape, or rather, Headmaster Snape, was staring impassively, with a defiance expression of _“I have killed Dumbledore, does someone has anything against that?”_. Ginny could not endure looking any other second to that scene; it was painful. Nonetheless, Malfoy had decided to go before the headmaster, as if was saying _“Look at me, I am with the pauper Weasley, I am doing everything you impose me to do”_. Ginny could not help but think he was expecting that, by those means, he could get some peace. Amycus Carrow was right next to Snape and not even tried to shun a guffaw when set his eyes on them. _Definitely, the Malfoys are in dire straits,_ she thought to herself and felt a pinch of pity. She shook her head, pushing away that feeling which was manifesting more often than desired.

         Still, some people in the Hall were genuinely relaxed, mainly those who belonged to Slytherin. They were dancing to a song from a band unknown to Ginny; howsoever the band did not seem to be good. Maybe she was just not in the mood for a song. Then she realized he was leading her to a group formed basically by poisonous snakes, also known as slytherins. She desperately sought for Blaise, but only recognized Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode and Gregory Goyle.

         She had the urge to come off and look for her gryffindor fellows, see how they were turning out with their mates, although she knew the majority of them had escaped from more unpleasant mates than hers. Apparently, Carrow’s creativity had reached the apex when choosing _her_ mate. Withal, the unyielding hand of Malfoy frustrated her plans, since he kept leading her ruthlessly. She would not be able to get rid of it mildly, neither without drawing attention. That would flush down the toilet all the torture which preceded the Ball, nothing would have been worth. The nervous, the anger, the temporary resignation…

         Draco got closer to the group and, for the first time, he smiled. But it was a kind of smile that would never reach the eyes, which on his case remained opaque and elusive. He pulled her almost courtly, as if for a moment she was truly his mate, a decent girl to accompany him on his conception. And Ginny’s keen instinct alerted her instantly.

         “Why so tense, Weasley?” he said and looked at her with a spark of cynicism on his frigid eyes. “We’re already fulfilling our role of entertaining the mass” he motioned his head directly to the Carrow Brothers, and the slight gesture made some strands of his platinum blond hair fall over his eyes.

         “I’d rather you a few instants ago, when I thought a hippogriff has eaten your tongue” she said, scathing.

         “Good to know there is a side of me you’d rather” his eyes fell relentless over her. “That will certainly remind me of never demonstrate this side when near to you” she tried to remove her hand curtly, but he closed his fingers over hers, pressuring with considerable pain. “You won’t get rid without causing a stir and I assume this is as much as unwelcomed to your cause as is for mine. We have to play this comedy for a little bit longer” he said with his teeth clenched, as if the words were coming out with a lot of effort.

         “I don’t believe it’s really necessary, everyone has seen how good we are behaving ourselves” she tried to loose his grip. “I’ve smiled so much without willing it seems my face will be like this forever” she complained more to herself than to him, after a moment of silence.

         “It wouldn’t be all bad, then. It would divert the focus from others disagreeable aspects of you” he finished with a cynical giggle and Ginny understood the reason why Harry cast a spell such as _Sectumsempra_ on him; if she could, she would have done very similarly. However, she did not allowed showing up her irritation when replied.

         “Are you saying I have such a glaring smile, _Draco?_ ” she emphasized his name pronouncing and felt his hand has gotten rigid for a millisecond.  She felt particularly ecstatic through her little revenge. “Does your life need smiles so badly? Oh, I see it needs! Living with no prestige under You-Know-Who’s wings must be depressing” she completed poisonously and saw his eyes gaining a metallic luster which Ginny’s mind registered as a crystal signal of _“danger”._

         He tightened even more her hand, and she could not avoid a teeny groan of pain. “Would you like to meet some people?” It was his only reply to her insinuation of the Malfoy family situation, apparently fallen into disgrace before Voldemort’s eyes.

         Malfoy did not await her response and kept leading her firmly towards where he wanted. She found herself in the middle of a circle, still hand in hand with Malfoy and with a growing claustrophobic panic. Suddenly, she was no longer Ginny Weasley, the popular girl, Quidditch player, symbol of strength and independence. She became that little eleven years old girl, reddening as much as the red of her hair when near to Harry Potter, panicking because of diaries, hiding herself underneath her mother’s skirt.

         Thence Malfoy said, with his drawling voice more alive than she thought it would be “Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce to you the filthiest pure-blood witch of the United Kingdom. As deplorable as her dress.” He had released her hand.

         In the midst of barely contained giggles and venomous gazes, everything collapsed on Ginny’s head. And the most aggravating was dealing with the impotence sentiment, which she has not been feeling at least for more than five years. The humiliation before those people made her think about Neville, about Dumbledore sprawled in a weird position on the ground, about George with his ear bleeding uncontrollably, about Bill scarred and laid on a hospital bed, about Ron lost because of a nearly impossible mission. And looking at those people, which parents were directly or indirectly connected to all the misfortunes her family has been through on the past years, she just could not hold on anymore.

         She turned out and ran, without minding in bumping into someone, and, for the first time since she came back from The Burrow, since noticed Harry was gone after Bill’s wedding, she truly cried.

         Ginny ran for a reasonable period of time, and only stopped after going through lots of doors and vaults, when her breath did not allow her to go any further without asphyxiating. _Everyone is entitled to a few moments of cowardice,_ she thought bitterly, _even the ‘perfect’ Ginny Weasley._ And maybe that was exactly the point: she was tired of playing the “perfect and strong” role. She just wanted everything to end as soon as possible, and then she could have her life back.

         She kept wandering for a while and realized she had went to some kind of a huge terrace, which had a great and wide sight of the school landscape; she was able to see the beginning of the Forbidden Forest and a piece of the Great Lake. She held her breath. She got stunned with the fact that, after six years studying there, she still has not visited all the places that _could_ be visited. But not even the beautiful sight provided by the terrace could stop her from throwing away her shoes violently, imagining they were the heads of all those despicable slytherins on Earth. Once again she had the urge to rip out her dress and throw it away as well, however, somewhere deep in her subconscious, her rational side projected a scene of her walking through the hallways of the school until the east tower, where the Gryffindor Common Room was located, seminude, trying to sneak behind armors and old curtains. Considering this scene, she braked her Weasley genius.

         She confined herself to sigh and, with a small leap, she skillfully settled on the border of the terrace, with her back turned to the access door and her little feet swinging aimlessly. The probability of she getting hurt if falling from up there was very low. Obviously not because there was not no one who would like to pull her, but because, in despite of her unbridled escape, she has not gone beyond the ground floor of the castle. Thereby, even if the terrain was irregular, she was not far from the ground.

         Ginny focused on her thoughts, yearning between going home and getting into the fight for real. And _growing up_! The stupid Ball and the incident with the whitey ferret only had been the last straw on a crammed barn. A winter wind blew slightly stronger and raised her long and red hair, which she had not worried enough to tie before the Ball; it was pulled back, almost reaching her hip. She remained so for several minutes.

         Ginny realized she was cold, inside and out.

         “This intensive Quidditch training provided you a pretty good conditioning, Redhead. It took me a while to find you here.” Blaise appeared, a little more breathlessly. Ginny quickly turned her head in order to put Zabini in her line of sight, and, probably, the look she gave him was not exactly friendly; Blaise instantly raised his hands in a clear gesture of surrender. “I came in peace”.

         “Where were you when I was being eaten by those baby basilisks? You would have been very useful, since you are immune to their poison.” Her anger was lessening gradually, leaving room just for the frustration, yet she still had to disburden, somehow. “I thought you’d be with them the whole night and, who knows, I’d have someone I could talk to… At least, while the stuck-up white ferret was by my side” she completed with a sigh.

         Blaise assumed it was enough safe to get close and prop his elbows on the terrace border, using his hands as a holder to his chin. It was an outlandish position to her, as if she was seeing the tall Zabini from the top, for the first time. He gave her one of his famous tight smiles owing to the nickname she has put on his friend. “I was looking after my interests. And also concocting an excuse to get away from Pansy, who couldn’t stop talking about Draco, how he was distant and blah, blah, blah. See, you both has this in common: you appreciate badmouthing my dear friend Malfoy.” Ginny simulated a vomit over the comparison between her and Parkinson. “Or it might just be by cause of his poor ability to deal with women.” He completed mostly to himself.

         Ginny decided to ignore Parkinson’s complaints and the Malfoy’s “poor ability to deal with women”. Her attention got caught by something else.

         “Which kind of interests?” she asked, with her usual vivacity back.

         “Politics. A word well put for the Headmaster here, an insinuation to the Carrows there… In politics and negotiations everything that matters is having the right connections.” He said absentminded.

         Not for the first time, Ginny felt Blaise was a terrible companion for someone such as her. Schemer, selfish, egocentric, arrogant… Dangerous. She knew he was using their “friendship” as a Plan B, in case things get ugly to Voldemort. But she could not stop asking herself if he had not enough guarantees that nothing would happen to him if Voldemort was overthrown. Besides, after months of acquaintanceship, Ginny did not have anything concrete against him and she would be a valuable witness if necessary. She stared at him brief and thoughtfully.

         “Sometimes I wonder why you bother yourself looking after my presence. You already know I could get you Harry’s indulgence, and consequently as so the wizarding world’s, if necessary.” She said callously.

         “Well, there it is a good question, which I ask myself frequently. I know the seeds I planted in your noble Gryffindor soul will bear fruits, _if necessary_.” He said, highlighting the last phrase. “Therefore, I conclude I look after you simply because I truly enjoy your presence.”

         She widened absurdly her eyes. This was _so wrong!_ Blaise Zabini saying he _truly enjoys_ Ginny Weasley’s presence! He might just start to defend the peaceful living between muggles and wizards.

         He laughed, guessing her thoughts. “Oh, no. You should efface those ideas about a world divided between bad and good guys and without any intersection between them. Furthermore, don’t create false expectations on your poor little heart about the verb “enjoy”: you’re definitely not my type, Redhead.”

         Ginny opened and closed her mouth a few times before answering, undecided between getting utterly ashamed due to thinking he could have any love-related interest on her, or getting mad because he had openly admitted he used their “friendship” to _political purposes._

         Did not neither one thing nor the other. Chose to turn, jump so she could come down from the border, and walk barefoot onto the door.

         “Come on, Blaise. It’s time to get some news about Neville and go to bed. The wizarding world may end tomorrow and I don’t want to die thinking I’ve spent my last night with you.” She said, blinking to him playfully, who nodded and followed her, unfathomable as ever.

         She just wanted that day to end as soon as possible. As well all the other days in sequence, she was sure.

         And, mainly, she wanted to forget about that one time she thought she could help Draco Malfoy. People like him were merely beyond salvation.

         _Or weren’t?_  Involuntarily, she went away with that thought on her mind. 


	3. A longer visit to Aunt Muriel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I would like to thank all of you readers!! Your reviews, kudos... It just means a lot for me!! Also, I would like to apologise... I know, I know. I took so long this time!! But it won't happen again. Don't give up, keep following! Okay, let's go straight to the point:
> 
> The following chapter occurs during the Easter vacation. Ginny obtained a permission to leave the school and had to hide herself until the beginning of the Hogwarts Battle, on 1st May, therefore covering almost two months of the story. Thereby, this chapter follows this period through Ginny's point of view.
> 
> Accordingly to the Deathly Hollows, by that time the golden trio is captured by hunters and taken to the Malfoy Mannor, where they fight against Bellatrix and release Luna, Griphook and Mr. Olivander. They manage to escape and in the sequence, go to Bill and Fleur's cottage, where Harry burried Doby's body and plans the breaking into Gringotts with Hermione, Rony and Griphook.
> 
> Everybody comes back to Hogwarts at the same day as the trio break into the bank.
> 
> That's all, folks. I hope you all enjoy the chapter!!

**Chapter Three: A longer visit to Aunt Muriel**

_April, 1998_

 

         Aunt Muriel’s house was, at least, unconventional. Yes, she was rich, in truth. However, all in all, such factors begot a very eccentric combination. Money in hands of someone with a doubtful taste could be compared to a wand in hands of a monkey: just would not be pleasant. The house was huge, with a lot of rooms, all of them decorated following basically the same standard; prints, garish colors and probably centenary furniture. Exhaling smell of centenary furniture. And there was where Ginny stayed since she could not come back to Hogwarts, at Easter. 

         Ginny waited anxiously her going to The Burrow during the Easter holiday, in search of information and news, which were so scarce in Hogwarts. But she ended up in a middle of turmoil of events, culminating in her going to Aunt Muriel’s house, as well as her family. She barely had her feet on the ground out of the Hogwarts Express at King’s Cross, settling down once again in The Burrow, when Bill came to their encounter. He has entered by the kitchen’s opened door, fast as lightning. Arthur and Ginny were sat around the table, waiting for Molly to finish dinner. It was regular members of the Order appear suddenly, but that one time a kind of instinct made Molly drop the kitchen utensils as soon as Bill walked in. Arthur stopped reading the newspaper and Ginny, who was playing with breadcrumbs such was her boredom, felt her heart sinks before the instantaneous tension of her mother.

         “Which one of them, Bill?” Molly asked, turning around her son’s direction, seeking for support against the kitchen’s sink.

         “Ron” He said. Before realizing the tonality Molly’s face acquired, Bill completed as fast as he could. “He’s alive, mom. We don’t know in which _conditions_ , but he’s alive. The Death Eaters confirmed they suspected since the beginning: that Ron and Hermione are with Harry, although they don’t know what those three are planning.” He grimaced, mostly because he realized that the Order of the Phoenix itself did not know what those three were planning or doing. “They were captured by the Fenrir Greyback’s pack and taken to the Malfoy’s Manor, and from there, couldn’t know for sure in which conditions, they managed to escape.” When speaking about the werewolf, Bill instantly touched his scars, probably remembering of their last encounter.

         For a moment, it seemed to Ginny her brother knew more than he was willing to tell, but her mind was already working flat out. Her first reaction was a sink on the heart, because of the uncertainty about Ron, Harry and Hermione’s fate. The second was a little more unpredictable: listen to the Malfoy’s name made Ginny’s mind do all the connections she was trying to avoid since the damn Ball, two months ago. She could not do not ask herself if Draco Malfoy still had that look emanating desperate, in a silent request for help. She shook her head to ward off the thought, remembering of the cruel words once said by Malfoy. Then the only thing she could do was cutting away from those unwanted memories and wish he has not done anything bad to Harry, Ron and Hermione.

         “But we have to look after them and…” Molly was trying to say, suppressing the hiccups.

         As each word was being said by Bill, Arthur was getting close to rival with the paleness of his wife. He stood up and put his hands around the roll-shaped shoulders of Molly.

         “Bill came here to tell us we must hide ourselves. Isn’t that right, son?” Arthur said staring his older son, who was standing by the door and nodded in agreement. “All we can do for them is to protect ourselves, darling.”

         It was not as if any plan had been prepared in case those unwished situations occur. It was something expected, in a certain way. Ron, Fred, George and Mr. Weasley transfigured the family ghoul to resemble Ron sick with spattergroit, and then he could be able to accompany Harry without raising suspicions from the Death Eaters. But there was a generalized sentiment of the farce would not last for much long, and when it happens, the Weasley family would be the first target of the Death Eaters on the search for Harry Potter.

         Molly insisted “I need to see Fred and George before, try to reach Charlie, say we are all fine and…”

         She was interrupted again, then by Bill “I managed a way to reach Charlie. While I’m here, Tonks is already talking with the twins and escorting them. We must cast a _Fidelius Charm;_ daddy will be the Secret Keeper.”

         “Aunt Muriel’s house” Ginny said grudgingly. Bill seemed to notice her presence for the first time and smiled.

         “Yes. Aunt Muriel’s house is the safest place we could’ve found, for now. And something tells me you won’t need to stay there for a long time.” He said sounding enigmatic.

         Ginny took the chance to order for a request she has been keeping to herself. “Bill, I won’t ask for you to tell me what you know or may become aware concerning Harry.” Her expression of _“I know there is more”_ did not leave doubts of what she was thinking about Bill’s will to tell everything he knew. “Just… Don’t let anything happen to him.”

         He nodded in assent with a simper. Bill and Ginny always had a close relationship, despite the age gap. He was the brother she admired the most, and he hardly could keep things from her for much long. So he indicated the door, still smiling, in a clear gesture of _“hurry up!”_

         And that is how she had ended up there, almost two months ago. There was not much _intel_ about the rest of the world, anyways. Aunt Muriel, at the height of her hundred years old, was a little bit intransigent with the flux of people who were visiting her house, so, as the first weeks passed by, they were more and more receiving fewer visitors.  In a certain way, Molly Weasley was grateful for that, but Ginny could not do anything but get more apprehensive.

         She tried to occupy her mind practicing spells she has learnt by the time Harry taught them in the Dumbledore’s Army, and also after, when she herself began teaching and helping the new and old recruits that remained at Hogwarts. The problem was to practice _alone;_ her parents were always busy confabulating things about the Order and Fred and George spent the most part of the time in a back room, continuing to work at distance throughout the owl post service they have created. In her opinion, it was a clever way to keep with the business while they were confined there. However, Aunt Muriel did not appreciate the idea at all. Especially after she has tasted _accidentally_ a ton-tongue toffee, _accidentally_ left by George alongside the glass of water in which she keeps her denture before going to bed. Ginny thought that after the _accident_ , Fred and George definitely were disinherited.

         On a particular day, after convincing Fred to practice with her, Ginny walked towards the Owlery. On further consideration, convince Fred was equivalent to a _“You won’t have what you want”_ certificate; her twin brothers had this morbid pleasure in doing exactly what was not expected of them to do. Ginny remembered that one time, at Christmas, when her mother covered The Burrow with protective enchantments against all the possible tricks the twins could prepare, but they behaved themselves sweetly, in a Percy representation. Ginny thought there was something very comical and satirical on the way they imitated Percy’s manners, yet her mother was too much happy to notice those nuances. It was a shame that sweet behave only lasted long enough to break the family expectations once more, coming back to what they truly were.  Ginny, though, thanked Merlin. One Percy was already plenty difficult to deal with.

         But the point was Ginny did not have anyone to cast a spell on. Indeed, she had _nothing_ to do. She stroked Pigwidgeon’s head, and kept still at the Owlery, waiting for news that would never arrive. After she sighed for the thirteenth time in less than ten minutes, a voice spoke behind her.

         “Have you ever heard that _an idle brain is the devil’s cushion_?” Her father has entered; he looked around and chose an old stool to sit on, not without making sure there was not owl poop on it. “It is an old muggle proverb. Maybe we should adjust to _“an idle brain is the You-Know-Who’s cushion”_.

         Ginny stroked Pigwidgeon once again and took a seat next to her father. “Not that I have many options to keep my brain working”. She did not need to add that her mind — better, her _heart,_ was far away from Aunt Muriel’s house.  He was her father, after all; he would not need bigger details concerning her love life.

         “Your brothers aren’t having many problems. In fact, they have been very busy.” He said trying to sound optimist.

         “I would be surprised if they weren’t. I guess if they don’t release some energy, probably they’ll be similar to mad Skrewts.” She said jokingly and he smiled slightly in agreement.

         “Although I guess the most restive of my children isn’t any of them.” He said putting his forefinger on her snub nose, pretending not committing an indiscretion. She laughed. “Ginny, I know how much this is complicated to you, but it is for a greater…”

         “Daddy, I’ve already memorized this greater good speech. Harry seems to sympathize with it.” She interposed. “I understand. I just hate feeling like that, wanting so desperately everything was simpler, because it makes me see I’m being selfish. But sometimes, I can’t avoid…”

         “Everyone feels like that at some point. Or do you think I feel as the symbol of altruism when your mother throws away my muggle artefacts?” He said thoughtful and Ginny got surprised; in her conception, her parents’ relationship has always been the example of perfection. “The big question is: what do you do with those bad sentiments? If you let them get the best of you and you surrender, then we’ll have a _big_ problem, maybe a one-way road. But if you decide to accept those bad sentiments exist and somehow are a part of you, gradually you can even turn them into your favour. Knowing your flaws can make of you a better person.” He smiled on that way she loved so much. Ginny looked at him, with the red hair scattering on the top of the head, the gentle smile on his face, the hands intertwined over his lap, with that thoughtful gesture she knew so well. The wave of tenderness she felt was tranquilliser. She rested her head on his shoulder.

         They stood there, in silence, until her mother shouted from the foot of the stairs which provided access to the Owlery “Ginny, sweetie, I need some help with the kitchen. And we have a few potions to stock!”

         She rolled her eyes in a clear demonstration of _“we are in a middle of a war, yet she still can think about household chores”_. “I’m coming, mom!” She shouted in response.

         “There it is something to occupy your brain” Her father said, observing her reaction.

         “Household chores?” She asked annoyed.

         “Also, if it ensures you won’t be sulking around the house. It’s the escape valve of your mother, at least. But I was talking about the _potions._ You’ve been showing yourself excellent in flying and casting spells, but you leave much to be desired when it comes to potions.” She flushed. It was not common pointing out things in which she was not good at. “What you need is a challenge, something you can devote yourself. Help your mother with the potion-making. Spells and jinxes are the bravest weapon of a wizard, but it doesn’t mean potions aren’t important at all. They are just more… Discreet.”

         Ginny grimaced before the idea of devoting herself on potion-making, but remembered she was talking to one of the gentlest person in the entire world, one of the people she loved the most. So she sighed and nodded.

           And that is how she had ended up in the world of potions.

         The following weeks at Aunt Muriel’s house were very tranquil for Ginny, as if the world was holding its breath, in one of those moments that precede the climax of a situation. In fact, this did not seem a very tranquil omen. The only moment that has broken her routine happened when Mr. Olivander arrived with Bill intending to get a refuge at Aunt Muriel’s house. It was comparable to feel a cool breeze at the desert; he has brought news about Harry, Ron and Hermione.

         They were at the Shell Cottage, along with Luna and Dean.  Ginny jumped off the chair and hugged Bill while the twins celebrated with cheers and shouts. She tried to convince Bill to lead her to them, but it was as much unsuccessful as singing a lullaby to a Whomping Willow. Her parents — and Bill — were unyielding.

         “You are safe here, Ginny. Any awkward moving could raise suspicions that we certainly don’t need right now. But don’t be nervous, I’m helping those three the best way I can.” He smiled and Aunt Muriel has entered the room.

         “William! Haven’t you cut your hair yet? Oh, what is this you have in hands? My tiara? I thought your French wife would keep it forever!”

         And thus they have spent the rest of the afternoon and the evening, between Aunt Muriel’s mean commentaries and information exchange. Her mother seemed so willing to not let Bill leave that her father had to intercede. And when he left, Ginny became sad again, although now she had something concrete to lean her hopes on: all the three of them were alive and well! She fell asleep cherished by that thought for many nights.

         Meanwhile, as incredible as it may seem, dealing with potions has proven to be quite of a pastime. Ginny considered this was due to the fact that the absence of Snape was vital; making potions without the greasy git behind her hovering as a permanent shadow was undeniably funnier. Aunt Muriel’s house also has turned out to be a warehouse of ingredients — she had found the most improbable ones, from Acromantula Venom to Dragon Scales. She spent most of the time doing experiments, following old recipes, new recipes, and even could afford to try new ones, yet the result was not positive in nine of ten attempts. But she was still far away from boasting for being an excellent potioneer, although at least she was having an intensive course.

         She has found the truth in her father’s words; devoting to an activity such as brewing potions demanded intense concentration and disconnection from the outside world. It was necessary an extreme accuracy when choosing ingredients, on how to treat them; wariness and strictness, absolute attention regarding the monitoring of the potion.

         “It’s almost art…” she whispered to herself, while stirring a cauldron full with a Hiccoughing Solution.

         It seemed the surprises hidden in the potions would never end!

         Under this perspective, the ‘confinement’ helped a lot. She had the opportunity to learn a little bit with everyone in the house. Molly has willingly accepted to help her; those were moments that only their silence and their cauldrons mattered.  Molly shared with her family recipes, patiently guarded until the day any of her children demonstrated interest in learning.

         Arthur was not less solicitous; watching his idea bearing fruits on his daughter head gave peace to him. Ginny could not say her father was a friend of potions, however, his never-ending patience and curiosity made of him a great company.

In this sense, the presence of Mr. Ollivander was quite welcomed as well. As a result of one of her new experiments, Ginny literally blew up her wand, which bounced off violently beside her and lost Aunt Muriel's head by the skin of her teeth.

    Usually, she did not think fate conspired in her favour, but there she was, with a shattered wand and living with a wandmaker.

    Then, with Bill's help — which cleverly had arranged the material requested by Mr. Ollivander — Ginny now had a new wand. An excellent one.

         Mr. Olivander has helped her get the best of her new wand; with 14 inches, dragon heartstring core, made of Ash and flexible, it was the first time she felt her wand was a natural extension of her right arm. Even Aunt Muriel showed herself lenient with Ginny; still there was always contestations such as “Ginevra, you are cutting those slugs with the ability of a troll!”, she also was always willing to get more ingredients and give one or two constructive hunches. Ginny could swear the old witch knew more about potions than what she was willing to tell, but this slight support from her aunt was probably way much more than Fred and George could dream in receive for their “activities”.

         Actually, Fred and George were a special case, apart. They had a natural ability to deal with new things; they have helped Ginny on the most various combinations, explained to her the functioning of some products from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes based on potions (after she took an oath that she would never use those secrets to “get in the competition market”, according to their own words) and touched up on the brewing. George even has discovered that mashing blowfish thorns instead of just cutting them provided a better taste — acceptable taste — to the Swelling Solution.

         On one of those funny afternoons, Fred casted a black fabric, flung over his shoulders and began to talk, obviously on an imitation of Professor Snape. “Today our class will address the relevant aspects of one of the most important potions in the wizarding world: the Hangover Potion”.

         “But…” Ginny started to protest.

         “Minus ten points to Gryffindor! Anyone else has objections?”

         Ginny looked to George and noticed he seemed to have entered into the game. He was sitting with the legs crossed and with a lifted nose, in a snobbish sort of way. He was imitating the Slytherin students, and to each stupid phrase he said, “Snape” guaranteed more and more benefits to Slytherin. When passing through the imitation of the drawling voice of Draco Malfoy, Ginny decided it was better to stop.

         “Stop the both of you!” She said, controlling her laugh “Why would I want a Hangover Potion? I can’t even go further than a tankard of butterbeer!”

         “She’s right, Fred.” George said, coming back to himself. “Teaching Ginny would only induce her to try out its functionality.”

         “And for _that_ , she would need some shots of firewhiskey.”   Fred completed.

         They talked as if she was not there.

         “And only Merlin knows what would happen if she decided to take those shots near to Harry.” George completed with a terrifying malicious countenance.

         They have turned simultaneously towards her and said in unison. “No Hangover Potion to you!”

         Ginny, who was almost as red as her hair, opened her mouth to reply with some insult when she felt something warm up against the pocket of her pants.

         It was the fake galleon of the Dumbledore Army given by Hermione, who has enchanted as they could set a date and hour to meet at the Room of Requirement, out of the claws of Dolores Umbridge. Ginny has made Neville promise he would only use it under one and only condition.

         _Harry._

         She looked at the twins, who seemed to follow her line of thought, subtly alert and identically serious. They became tense and Ginny felt a mix of emotions, relief and horror.

         It was time to come back to Hogwarts.


	4. The Battle of Hogwarts – Wildness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Merlin, I must have mastered in apologising, but I'm so sorry for taking so long AGAIN! Actually I had some issues regarding the translation but finally the fourth chapter is done. I hope you all enjoy it and of course, don't give up reading the story!

**Chapter Four: The Battle of Hogwarts – Wildness**

_Early May, 1998_

 

         When she arrived at the Hog’s Head and went to Hogwarts with her twin brothers through the tunnel hidden behind the picture of Ariana Dumbledore, under the protests of Aberforth — who was strongly refusing to let people come in and out in his house by his own free will —, Ginny’s adrenaline had already reached stratospheric levels. Soon as she entered in the Room of Requirement and realized Harry was there, she trembled before the impossibility of _touching_ him and finally saying everything unsaid since their last kiss at The Burrow, when he completed seventeen years old.

         But the allure of the moment suddenly finished when she noticed that Cho Chang was right behind her; the girl awakened in Ginny all the sentiments she most hated to feel: insecurity, jealousy, uncertainty… But slightly shaking her head, she affirmed to herself that Cho Chang was the least of her problems.

         There was a little more heated discussion happening and Ginny noticed that, as usual, Harry did not want more people to get involved in whatever he was doing. Almost all of her friends were there and she had to stop the urge of hugging each one of them: they needed help, not the exchange of amenities.

         Eventually Harry has yielded to the arguments — far more logical arguments — and admitted he was looking for something that could be at the Ravenclaw tower: a Diadem, which has belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw. _Why_ he was looking for that was far from Ginny’s comprehension; but she could not avoid asking herself how many things Harry kept to himself, or at most, shared only with Ron and Hermione. She sighed timidly, trying to concentrate herself on the Diadem problem.  She did not know what the word meant, although it was familiar to her; she wrinkled her snub nose, focusing on her thoughts and, when she was almost developing the idea, her reasoning was abruptly interrupted.

         Cho Chang, at the height of her solicitude, offered herself to show to Harry what a Diadem was like, at the Ravenclaw tower. Ginny’s blood boiled up; she did not want to even imagine the Cho Chang’s Diadem in the hands of Harry, at the Ravenclaw’s _dormitory._ She knew she was being selfish in thinking like that in a critical moment as it was, but her hormones allowed her to be just as altruist as most teenagers.

         Ginny’s most primitive instincts had to take action immediately. Luna, who seemed to have arrived soon after her, came out to be her life saver “No. Luna will take Harry there, isn’t that right, Luna?” she said in a frustrated attempt to sound casual. When her Ravenclaw friend consented, Ginny instantly felt relieved, even if just a bit.

         And then they have left in search of a Diadem and Ginny could not understand the reason why. She could only wait, walking from one side to another, trying to occupy her mind with thoughts that were not noxious to her spirit.

         Her parents arrived shortly after, to her relief, along with Oliver Wood, Angelina Johnson, Bill, Fleur, Kingsley and Lupin. Ginny flashed a huge grin, which almost did not fit in her face. It was so good to do _something!_ So good to see her family finally reunited!

         What once was her relief in seeing the rest of the Order and the Dumbledore Army soon became barely contained rage when Molly said she would not fight. After a few effusive hugs, Ginny was “gently” informed she would _have_ to go back home. Then, the reddish colour her face acquired was not due to shame; it was due to the sentiment of, despite she was capable of defending herself and fighting, they would never see her as an equal.

         For the first time in her life, she wanted to hex her mother. She looked at her father in a silent request of help that would never come. Arthur bowed his head in a silent agreement with Molly.

         “I can’t go home!” She yelled, trying hard to hold back her tears. “You’re all here, my family…”

         “It’s not under discussion! You are going home! This isn’t a place for children.” Her mother said, repeating it over a dozen times. Ginny, in turn, continued along asking for the help of her father, brothers, even friends, but none of the alternatives worked out. A growing feeling of despair settled in her heart.

         It was all so _unfair!_

         When she was about to argue for the ninth time, Harry returned and the Battle seemed to have finally begun. The Room of Requirement was rather crowded at the moment, and it was with huge relief that Ginny overheard all those present would have to go to The Great Hall, for some reason that had slipped her attention.

         Then Harry could help her! Her mother was in the middle of a lecture of what to her seemed to be disjointed words such as “underage”, “have no choice”, “go home” and she only had eyes to Harry and for the prospect that he might help her.

         And his resigned countenance was a cold shower over her hopes.

         “O.k, I’ll just say goodbye and…” She started to declare her defeat, but she was interrupted by a strange noise inside the tunnel which provided access to the Room of Requirement and, as an illusion, Percy appeared looking like he had crossed the United Kingdom riding an ancient broomstick. His glasses were canted at an odd angle and his cloak, which used to be always neat and clean then was as one of Ron’s.

         Ginny seldom felt such an atmosphere of embarrassing among her family. Molly was staring at her son almost bursting into tears; Arthur was impassive, with a far too much pale colour for her taste; the twins scowled at him and she nearly laughed at the thought of even that they did exactly at the same time, exactly in the same way.

         Lupin and Fleur were talking about something; however, Ginny was so absorbed she could only tell there was a conversation happening, the words hovering around her as the crying of a mandrake muffled by those pink and fluffy earmuffs used to shut out the sound in her Herbology classes. At a glance she noticed Lupin had pulled out a photo of his newly born son in a desperate attempt to shatter the tension among the Weasley. Then Percy spoke up, or rather, roared, for everybody’s relief.

         “I was a fool!” he dramatically paused “I was an idiot, I was a pompous prat, I was a-a…” he babbled.

         Ginny could predict precisely in those infinitesimal seconds that precede an action what would happen next. Her mother would cry, her father would get extremely proud; Fred and George would release their frustration before the previous acts of Percy through jokes, Bill would give a lenient smile and… Ginny would have a chance to escape.

         When all the events she had predicted — thanks to her sixth sense obtained through years of family interaction — were unleashed one by one, Ginny saw her chance grow; they were too distracted with Percy to notice her. Perhaps she could slink through the walls to reach the door…

         “Ginny Weasley!”

         …And her mother’s voice echoed through the Room of Requirement. It would not have worked out better if she had aimed her wand and said: _Impedimenta._ At this point, Ginny knew she did not have a choice and she would have to go home. She felt as if the ceiling and walls of Hogwarts were about to swallow her, separating her from her family forever.

         Fortunately to her scarce luck Lupin interceded in her favour, suggesting she could stay in the Room of Requirement instead of going home; even Fred and George seemed embarrassed for having brought her and to Ginny that was hugely unfair since _she was the one_ who had received Neville’s message. She had the _right_ to be there.

         Even though it was better than going home, it was unthinkable to just stay and be treated as a _bloody_ _princess_. Her hand tightened on her wand, wondering all sort of spells she could use to get out of there. But even as talented as she was at the height of her sixteen years old, she still would not be able to get through Bill, who was the closest person to her. If she insisted in doing something, she might get close to the door, _stunned or burping up slugs,_ she thought to herself bitterly.

         Finally, she decided the best strategy was to sit down, cross her arms pugnaciously and pucker up. Childish? Maybe. Desperate measure? Definitely.

         Actually it was with a morbid despair that she watched her family, the Order of the Phoenix, Harry, every single one of them leave through the front door of the Room of Requirement. And she was left alone among hammocks hanging under the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff banners and trinkets of all sorts, while a war was happening outside.

         After some time, she heard the voice of Voldemort echoing through the walls of the castle, demanding Harry Potter himself and her heart sank over the perspective; _would someone have the guts to hand him over?_

         She spent the several minutes she had on her disposal walking around the room, kicking every junk in her way, muttering to herself, seasoning her words with a new kick in a random object.

         “Flipping…” _kick_ “…crappy…” _kick_ “…war!” When she tried to kick to punctuate the exclamation in a paper box laid on the floor, she felt a thump against something very tough. Some idiot had shrunk a trunk. The sore ankle and the smouldering humour were enough to set free Ginny’s grumpiness.

         “ _BLOODY PIECE OF SHI…”_ She cursed in a bursting anger.

         Her barely contained burst was interrupted by the arrival of an old lady and a young woman with purple hair who Ginny immediately recognised as Nymphadora Tonks.

         “So these are the good manners they’re teaching to the youngsters of Hogwarts?” The old lady spoke up bluntly. “We should harness the poison of that mouth of yours against You-Know-Who.” It did not take much intellectual effort of Ginny to deduce the old lady was no one but Augusta Longbottom, Neville’s grandmother. The hat with a stuffed vulture on it and the scarf made of fox fur could tell by themselves.

         Ginny did not have time to open _that mouth of hers_ to answer and apologise — even if it would have been sound phony — when Harry walked in the room with Ron and Hermione.

         Neville’s grandmother seemed to forget completely about Ginny’s manners, asking for her grandson and leaving in a surge of pride in the minute Harry informed her Neville was fighting. Ginny and Tonks asked simultaneously how everything was going outside, but, par for the course, Harry’s response was vague, thereby clarifying absolutely nothing.

         “Ginny, I’m sorry, but we need you to leave too” He said as Tonks hurryingly left the room to find her husband.

         Ginny erupted in delight, which was so overwhelming that she did not listen to any other word Harry had to say. _She would fight!_ Ginny did not waste her time trying to figure out what the hell Harry, Ron and Hermione were going to do in there and left quickly, ignoring Harry’s recommendations.

         If it was not so ridiculous to do it in the middle of war, she would have whirled. At least she would have a chance to help!

         As soon as Ginny left the Room of Requirement she focused on hexing through the window any enemy in her range. Harry, Ron and Hermione also left the room and Ginny presumed they needed it to transform into something else so they could enter. Her mind merely registered the information; she was far too busy casting spells on giants and Death Eaters, who were invading the Hogwarts’ grounds.

         Aberforth Dumbledore passed through her shouting a few encouraging words yet she was too concentrated stunning a Death Eater whose face she could not see, solely the dishevelled brown hair. She was vaguely aware that Tonks was asking around about the whereabouts of Lupin, and Ginny glanced at Harry seeking comfort for Tonk’s situation.

         “He’s fine, Tonks” He assured trying to allay her fears. Tonks, however, appeared to not have listened; she rushed off towards the stairs that led to the lower floors.

         Ginny herself did not hear when Ron, Hermione and Harry entered in the Room of Requirement again. It was her chance; she would not come back there for anything in the world. She would defend her family. She was _free._ She resisted the frantic urge of rushing off as well and decided to peer into the corridor to be sure she was alone, her heart pounding in her chest. Glanced at the right and did not see anything but closed doors; she concluded it was better to follow the direction Tonks had taken.

         When she was almost at the end of the corridor, Ginny got a glimpse of an odd motion coming from where a few instants before had been the door of the Requirement Room. She positioned herself behind an armour capable of concealing her presence.

         Draco Malfoy and his two favourite minions appeared from nowhere, as if they have been hidden under an invisible cloak until then. In fact, they seemed to have used a disillusionment spell, but Ginny did not have time at her disposal to analyse further: she had to decide between stopping them from entering in the room – to obviously interfere in whatever Harry was doing there – and keep running after her family.

         For a fraction of second, while Draco Malfoy was staring at the wall trying to, Ginny supposed, get inside the room, she observed him. He seemed slightly slimmer, paler; she asked herself if he had returned to Hogwarts after the Easter holiday, when she had fled. Ginny had a feeling the answer was “no”. The Room of Requirement’s door appeared and Crabbe and Goyle smiled grotesquely, trying to enter in the room as silently as their size allowed. Malfoy just stood there for an instant and seemed to have noticed her presence, even meters away, covered by that huge armour at the end of the corridor. He glanced at her and their eyes met for a brief second; he still had those very same eyes that awakened in her so many muddled emotions two months before. They still had that silent request of help on them and she could not avoid the thought of what would happen to him if those people around him kept on ignoring the fact he was on the edge of an emotional cliff.

         At last she shrugged and walked away before even check if he did or did not enter in the room. Harry, Ron and Hermione have faced those idiots a thousand times before, anyway. On that moment, it was more urgent to find her parents and the rest of her siblings. However, Ginny had to fight against a bizarre will of walking towards the bouncing ferret, drag him by his hair down the corridor onto the Great Hall and put him under the care of the Order.

         Draco Malfoy was not her problem. A voice in her head stealthily asked whose ‘Draco Malfoy’ problem was, with that… lonely countenance. She shook her head warding off the thought.

         As Ginny passed through the hallways, dodging wrecked statues and green and red beams, she had the opportunity to contemplate properly the havoc at the castle where she lived for the past years. An intensified cloud of dust would rise every time the castle trembled due to a spell hitting somewhere far from her knowledge.

         She stumbled on Luna at the first step of the stairs that led to the fourth floor and, with her, a Death Eater in tow. Without time to even exchange an accomplice look with her friend, Ginny pulled up her wand casting a levitation spell while Luna conjured thick ropes to bind the Death Eater, in a cadenced way only Luna could perform. A stunning spell lost them for inches when they left the Death Eater bound behind, but Ginny could not see the caster.

         “Luna, we need to find somewhere less exposed!” She yelled to overlap her voice against the noises of the battle, pulling her friend.

         “Maybe it’d be better if we try to get at the entrance. We’ll get more coverage there.” Luna replied as loud as she could.

         They moved forward, as close as they could get. Everything was hampering their passing: the dust in the air, the poor lighting coming through the cracks in the walls, the riot and commotion. Ginny pulled up her wand to hex a Death Eater, who was duelling with two students a bit ahead of where they stood, and only had time to hear Luna yelling _“Protego!”_ , thereby making a spell towards them ricochet. Due to the impact, Ginny lost her balance, projecting herself over Luna.

         Both collided against the opposite wall of the corridor, which was severely damaged, allowing a view of the school grounds; Ginny tried to support her weight on it, but what remained of the structure toppled and she felt her body be thrown through the aperture. She experienced the stomach-dropping sensation characteristic of a freefall, the wind whipping her face.

         _What a wonderful way to die._

         Suddenly she felt a thump as if her body had been abruptly bridled and looked up at where she was standing just a second before; Luna was waving her wand carrying a focused countenance on her face.

         “Thank you Luna, thank you!” She said grateful, hovering due to her charm. Ginny seized the opportunity to better observe the situation around her; the third floor wall, where Luna was positioned, was almost completely destroyed, and the second floor condition was not differing much from it. Ginny was hovering right between the both floors, and was not enjoying being an easy prey, floating there outside the castle.

         “Ginny, I’ll get you near the wall then lift you up here and…” Luna did not finish narrating her pretences; a spell had hit her and thrown her on the floor. The hovering charm has been broken at the same instant Ginny propelled herself towards the edge of the destroyed walls of the second floor, falling on the floor below among the rubble of the ruins. She did not see anything else as her head hit a giant rock amidst the debris of that corridor.

         Then everything has become darkness.


	5. The Battle of Hogwarts – Rashness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to Merlin I'm trying to post asap. I do swear.

**Chapter Five: The Battle of Hogwarts – Rashness**

 

         _“Enervate!”_

         _She did not die._ The certainty fell on Ginny as she opened her eyes slowly; the headache, the deafening sounds of the battle and the dust she inhaled in an attempt to breathe properly were a definitive attest that she was alive. _Painfully alive._ Her hand reached her nape and touched the blood, viscous yet starting to dry. The mere effort of moving her arm was enough for her to groan faintly and for her sore throat to give an account of itself; she coughed accustomating to her surroundings.

         Once her perfect sight was restored, she questioned herself if everything was genuinely fine with her mental faculties: a pair of perturbingly greyish eyes was staring at her with a barely concealed curiosity. Its owner, in turn, was leaning over her as if he could actually ascertain whether or not she was in decent physical conditions, as Madam Pomfrey used to do with the students sent to the Hospital Wing.

         Then he did something Ginny’s tumultuous mind could not understand duly: stretched out a hand.

         For the second time in that insane year Draco Malfoy stretched out his left hand for her – albeit with a grimace of reluctance – offering it as a support so she could raise herself from the ground. Ginny, mainly due to the consequences of the faint, remained still, observing him. His dingy raiment was partially singed and his face had signs of ashes, as if he has tried to clean it up with sooty hands, sloppily. _Ashes._ In fact, _it suits him well,_ she deemed, and promptly warded off the inconvenient thought. Ginny briefly wondered which part of the castle was catching fire by then.

         He read her gesture as a demur and seemed to lose the little patience that a spoiled adolescent has. “Shite, Weasley, c’mon!” He said miffed, waving impatiently his hand for her to grasp it and hurry up. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but I don’t have all the time in the world.”

         She was forced to ignore all the questions that appeared in her mind, such as _“why he’s helping me?”, “am I still unconscious and hallucinating?”_ and _“is he going to attack me now?”_ so she could be able to think rightly, in which case the most reasonable attitude she could have was to try to raise herself from the rubble and be the less tempting target as possible for the Death Eaters. _For_ other _Death Eaters,_ she rectified staring the young man in front of her.

         Ginny finally grasped his hand, raising herself cautiously. It was so pallid and cold! He was trembling slightly and on that moment she could confirm his hand was sooty, which provided a high contrast against his pale skin. He quickly loosened the grasp once her balance was recovered, meaning to clean his hand on his raiment but refrained when he realized he already was grimy from head to foot before even touch her. Ginny rolled her eyes, exasperated.

         Her surroundings diverted Ginny’s attention away from the pettiness and enigmas of Draco Malfoy; that area was utterly destroyed, although it was still possible to descry a few spells crossing through the air.

         “How did you find me?” She said the first thing she could think of, peering over the area in search of an unclogged pathway.

         “A more appropriate question would be _how to get out of here uninjured, preferably?_ ” He shrugged and replied impatient, without losing his annoying tone of disdain.

         “We have to find someone of the Order. I guess we…” Ginny could not finish her sentence, partly because he interrupted her and partly because she was shocked with the fact that she has not even questioned which side he was truly on.

         “ _We?_ For sure their main duty is to protect me from each and every attack, isn’t it?” He said with sarcasm dripping from his lips. “ _You_ have to find someone of the Order. I’ve already done my part and we can call it even” He said totally alert to possible threats and ready for any eventuality. Before the ‘completely confused’ countenance on her face, he developed his reasoning as if he was teaching History of Magic to a troll. “You haven’t neither interfered nor caused me problems an hour ago when I needed to get inside the Room of Requirement to… To do _something_. You gave me a chance to try, anyway” He concluded with a wry smile, which Ginny found rather sad.

         She had a plain impression that the “something” Draco had to do in the room probably has caused problems to Harry, and she could not keep herself quiet.

         “Is Harry alright? He was there and…”

         The icy stare Draco gave her added to the remnants of the torpor caused by the faint made her shut up quickly, in a rare moment; Ginny hardly would be intimidated by a scowl, but that time was different: she simply was not able to avoid it.

         “Your precious Potter is alright, as far as I’m concerned. But not for very much long by what I’m seeing here” He waved his wand vaguely around them, meaning their destroyed surroundings. “And for the record, I couldn’t care less about his welfare, regardless of what he’s done for me.”

         Ginny’s tongue tickled due to the curiosity in knowing what Harry did for Draco that demanded his gratitude, however, the question died in her throat as he turned his back to walk away. She hesitated before his behavioural change; for an instant she thought he would go with her. Ginny bit her lower lip doubtfully before saying anything.

         “Malfoy, wait…” She said, vacillating thereafter. He stopped, even though he still had his back turned on her. “They can help you. Everybody deserves a second chance. You just have to try” She cracked a wistful smile already aware she would fail on her attempt. Yet, she still had to do something, at least try to help. All of a sudden, it did not matter the words spoken on the Ball, the years of derision, the events of the past year. He has helped her and it seemed they were in the same boat then. It seemed fair…

         He did not bother himself to turn around to say “I don’t relate to people of your ilk, Weasley. As much for my own will as yours. Oil and water, remember?”

         It was as if someone had suddenly punched her in the stomach. Rationally it was obvious he would say something like that, however, it appeared to her he was willing to shift sides – but that was before mentioning Harry… Nonetheless, a glimpse of hope had burgeoned in her heart… _Hope of what?_ Her own conscious derided at her, but even so she kept trying.

         “I can’t believe you still really care for such daft ideals! Even after this war, even after everything Voldemort’s done for you and for your family!” She yelled at his back as he started to walk away again.

         He froze where he stood and Ginny could not tell if it was due to the pronunciation of the name ‘Voldemort’ or due to her dauntless in questioning his attitudes. She would not care if it was due to any of those: her known hot temper was beginning to emerge.

         He still has not turned around to reply and she could only guess his expression at the moment. “Those _daft_ ideals are the only thing left for me to believe, Weasley. And it’s for my family that I have to believe on them.”

         Ginny’s legs were stuck on the ground; she never has stopped to think about it properly. Draco Malfoy, the boy who had it all, expect for the right to make his own choices, and, not for the first time, she felt happy to have been born as a Weasley. When she came back to reality, he was already gone with no further words and she could merely thank Merlin for her family’s choices.

         Snapping her focus out of Malfoy, her mind returned to work at full speed: just then something he has said began to draw attention on her subconscious; _‘You haven’t neither interfered nor caused me problems an hour ago’._ Had she really been unconscious for that long? Where would be Luna? And her family?

         Ginny groped her coat and with a sigh of relief she saw her wand was still there. She rushed off through the debris, jumping over the obstacles that were opposing her running. She did not want, or rather, she could not think about what those obstacles were consisted of, lying on the ground, covered by dust and by the remains of what once were the castle’s walls.

         She blessed the night, which was partially blurring her sight. She did not want to see.

         The castle was too silent for her taste and Ginny felt an uncontrollable and insane fear that she would find Voldemort sitting on Professor’s Dumbledore chair, toasting to his victory.

         Ginny took a deep breath and concentrated on getting to the grand staircase, but then her attention were diverted by a hand that touched her ankle blandly while she was searching for an unhindered pathway. She stopped swiftly and with horror Ginny recognized the figure of her former Divination professor, trying to get up next to a wall. The woman no longer had glasses and was more dreadful than usual: her face was colourless and Ginny could not discern where it was the professor’s hair, so covered by dust, although the most horrifying factor was the appalling amount of blood spurting out from her right leg.

         Ginny briskly crouched to try a few basic healing spells, but it was completely ineffective. She has never been exactly good at the art of healing and that wound seemed knotty, at the very least. She franticly started to seek for ideas, perhaps getting to the Potions Room and find an essence of Dittany… But she could not even locate herself correctly, and with Hogwarts immersed in that havoc, it would be impossible to find something as precious. The woman opened her eyes, which used to be so eerie through those big and horrid glasses, and Ginny despaired even more: they were small, frightened, disturbed and Professor Trelawney was trying to say something.

         “The serp… The serpent…” She coughed. “It was the serpent…” She said at last, pointing out with a trembling hand to her wounded leg: the professor was saying she has been attacked by the serpent, Nagini, probably in the hope of providing some information that could help her. Shortly thereafter Trelawney was already succumbing to unconsciousness, incapable of staying awake for much long.

         Ginny knew she had to take the professor with her; she was just calculating how much time she would waste to run through the castle with a severe wounded body hovering behind her. She sighed resigned, knowing there was no choice, when she heard the ethereal voice of Luna, as if she was having breakfast at the Great Hall.

         “She’s pretty harmed, isn’t she? We should take her to someone who can help with this” And as if Luna had just remembered the last time she saw Ginny, she completed with the same tone, “Oh, Ginny, I’m glad you’re alright. Sorry for having broken the spell, a Death Eater knocked me down and I…”

         Ginny did not let her finish: she crossed the distance between them and gave her the tightest hug as possible, kissing Luna’s pale face, which flushed a little. “Luna, I got so worried! I saw you’ve been knocked down, but I couldn’t look after you because I hit my head when I fell then I fainted. Malfoy helped me and…”

         She interrupted herself abruptly before the expression of her friend: the big blue eyes of Luna goggled and raised her index finger to her chin, thoughtfully. “Oh yes, my father says there’s a lot of devil’s snare at the Malfoy Manor. It’s said they’re so persuasive they’re capable of changing one’s personality and…”

         Ginny struggled to avoid rolling her eyes. “Luna, devil’s snares are persuasive because they strangle people! Besides, Malfoy’s personality is the least of our matters right now.” She said, resuming the focus on the battle. “We need to find a way to take her to somewhere safe.” She completed pointing out the wand to Trelawney.

         “Madam Pomfrey is at the third floor taking care of the people who have been injured on this part of the castle. Perhaps I can take her there.” She said circumspectly. “It may be too far to take her to the Great Hall.”

         “I’ll go with you” Ginny said promptly. “The best we can do is to stick together as much as we can.”

         Luna stared at her with those penetrating eyes that could make anyone feel naked, without any secrets. “We must go where our hearts are, Ginny.” She always got surprised by Luna’s reasoning, ever so unpredictable, not linear – and even so, full with perceptions of a soul’s subtlety that Ginny could not find in anyone else. “Furthermore, everything seems to be calmer now. I’ll be with you sooner than you think.”

         Ginny nodded almost imperceptibly, hugged her friend at last and turned back, about to restart her running once more.

         Her feet only stopped when she reached the doors of the Great Hall, after have run through many corridors and jumped several steps. She leaned on her knees, trying to catch her breath. There were many people gathered there and Ginny made a silent prayer for recognizing most of the faces. As she approached slowly, however, her relief began to evade from her body gradually, bit by bit, in a quiet agony.

         There were bodies at the centre of the room.

         She kept with her vacillating steps, with the sweat dripping down her face and her aching muscles, desperately wishing those gingers nearby the bodies did not mean anything in particular. Each step hurt, as if her body was protesting against the will imposed by her head. She did not want to walk, did not want to know. Yet, each centimetre surpassed confirmed a certainty.

         She already knew.

         Even with the view completely obscured by the people, she already knew. She knew because her mother was on her knees, sobbing on the torso of someone lying down. She knew because her father was standing still, pale with the tears rolling down his face uncontrollably. She knew because George was looking catatonic at some fixed point on the ground, as if he wanted to disappear or wake up from a nightmare; as if he has just lost a part of himself.

         And he actually has.

         She had to gather all the remaining strength in her body to keep standing as she approached them and finally saw Fred. He was serene as she has rarely seen before, with his hair slightly too long on his forehead and an angelical aspect. She felt an urge to scream, to torture every Death Eater, to _kill._ For the first time in her life, she genuinely felt the urge to kill. And above all the urges she had at the moment, she wanted to hug Fred as tight as she possibly could and tell him how much she loved him and always would.

         Ginny waited, waited and waited, as if Fred would get up laughing and putting away the strings of his hair from his eyes, telling he was just taking a nap. But after some time, she could not bear to look at him any longer. Ginny decided to leave her brother and her parents alone and let them recover from a wound that would never heal, she was sure. Ginny walked away with the steps of someone who took too many shots of firewhiskey, and when she looked up she noticed Percy, Bill, Ron and Hermione were close, but drowned on their own sadness.

         She ran her eyes through the bodies’ row and recognized more of them than she would like: Tonks – who taught her how to find out if a door has been unperturbed by throwing dungbombs on it – beside her husband, Lupin, and she thought sorely about their newly born baby, condemned to grow up in a world that allows such violence. Ginny recognized Colin Creevey, her companion of morning gossips, who so often would listen to her and give her precious advices. She recognized many more dear faces and, suddenly, Ginny wished she could stop seeing.

         She threw herself into the nearest bench, and soon afterwards Hermione was by her side.

         “Why’s everything so quiet?” Ginny said, staring at some point of the entrance; she would not talk about Fred, under any circumstances.

         “Voldemort gave an ultimatum. Said we must hand over Harry to be spared” Hermione replied mechanically.

         Ginny did not seem to hear the response, and Hermione put her arm around her friend’s shoulders. This simple gesture was enough to bring Ginny back to the tough reality. She leaned her head on Hermione’s shoulder and they stayed like that for some time. Then Ginny finally cried, and she cried as she never cried before.

-

         What happened next seemed blurry most part of the time.

         Ginny’s mind did not register anything clearly, besides being comforted by Hermione for a long period – in which her tears would not have an end as much as her longing for Fred – and being dragged by Ron to the outside of the castle, where they saw Hagrid carrying Harry’s inert body. She did not think it was possible to feel any more pain, but for her despair, she proved herself wrong.

         She screamed, oh yes, she did that. She tried to reach his body, but hands and arms of strangers kept on impeding her. Then Neville appeared defying Voldemort and the Sorting Hat also appeared with a slight wave of his wand, and shortly thereafter the hat was burning over the head of a paralyzed and enchanted Neville.

         Ginny was about to scream again and aim a spell on any enemy at sight when the centaurs joined the battle shooting arrows toward the Death Eaters. With a glance she noticed Neville had managed to break free _and_ also had pulled out the Sword of Gryffindor from the hat; as if everything has become in slow motion, Neville propelled himself toward Voldemort’s snake and thereupon, with a single stroke, Nagini was beheaded. Voldemort became paler – if it was possible for him to – then was _his turn_ to scream.

         The scream echoed staunchly, causing shivers on most of the people, as everything that came from Voldemort – but it sounded like a melody for Ginny’s ears and she almost closed her eyes in pleasure. The noise reverberated through her and seemed to give a little more energy to her exhausted body.

         It was with a bigger clarity that she noticed things ran out of control. And she did not think twice before pulling out her wand, even considering her physical and mental state.

         She looked for Harry’s body desperately, but he did not seem to be there and the uproar got widespread. There were duels everywhere and she had to dodge from some spells, and as much as she wanted to keep looking for Harry, she could not afford to dodge her attention from the battle. She put away the red hair from her forehead, which was beginning to stick due to sweat, and ran to the castle’s entrance; everyone was fighting and she let the adrenaline take the lead.

         When Ginny finally got inside the castle, after dodging fighters, centaurs and bodies, she felt her right wrist – which hand was holding the wand – being briskly pulled by a masked Death Eater. Her years of living with five brothers came to the fore: clenching her small fist, she aimed the Death Eater’s head and closed her eyes, punching him. He staggered back, giving her enough time to stun him. The knuckles of her fingers then also had blood on, but she did not bother in cleaning them: it would take her many nights to clean all the bad things of that battle.

         On tiptoes, she spotted a blond hair which she recognized as belonging to Luna – she had to be certain her friend was alright. Ginny saw Voldemort duelling against Professor McGonagall, Slughorn and Kingsley at the same time, and she wished Voldemort to be hit by three killing curses at once.

         Ginny never felt so happy for being able to fight, to do something. She casted a few spells that probably did not hit precisely the desired targets, but she made through the Great Hall and reached her friend, albeit she did not have time to express her relief.

         Bellatrix had appeared in front of them with an assassin smile on her face. Ginny could not understand how someone could trivialize the lives of innocent to the point of feeling joy in attacking them to kill. Anyhow, she did not have time to speculate on the subject further as a green beam crossed the air towards Luna, who avoided the spell with an incredible agility that Ginny thought her friend did not have. The redhead raised her wand and casted a boggart-banishing spell, which she considered to be very _ridiculous_ , but in situations of deep stress, her body would function on autopilot – her movements were based solely on her survival instinct, keen thanks to years of hanging out with Harry.

         With a glimpse she saw Hermione coming along, and then it was three against one.

         Bellatrix seemed to be striving to handle the three of them, yet she still was a dangerous adversary. They formed a kind of _danse macabre_ , made of spins, searching for breaches caused by oversights, casted and repelled charms – all in a surprisingly speed. When Ginny was about to open her mouth to say _“Stupefy!”_ for the umpteenth time, Bellatrix turned to her and Ginny felt _fear._ Fear of the insanity in her eyes. She also felt shivers for having associated it with a similar expression she has seen – although in a smaller scale – in the greyish eyes of Draco Malfoy. Ginny froze as Bellatrix guffawed, producing a disdainfully unashamed sound. Bellatrix raised her hand and her lips moved, and even though Ginny could not hear it, she was able to read the words coming out from the woman’s mouth, clearly saying “ _Avada Kedrava”_ and forming a morbid smile right after. Ginny felt as if someone had casted the impediment hex on her.

         The killing curse had missed her for a matter of centimetres, and she has not done anything to dodge it. _What a twit, stupid, idiot!_

         She barely noticed when her mother got beside her:

         “Not my daughter, _you bitch!_ ” Molly had growled to Bellatrix.

         And they fought, and there on, everyone gathered around the walls because there were only two pairs duelling: Bellatrix and her mother and Voldemort and… _Harry._

         She scratched her eyes, groped her head – perhaps she would find more blood, maybe she had a concussion. She considered asking someone – perhaps she was delusional! At last Ginny settled with the hardest decision: she held her breath as everyone else and _waited._

         Her mother had put an end on Bellatrix’s life with a swift and accurate spell; Voldemort screamed when it happened, as if he had been hit by a torture curse. Ginny wondered if the extraordinary performance of her mother was due to the pain caused by Fred’s death or something else.

         Ginny could not exactly say she was registering absolutely everything. Harry and Voldemort were staring at each other, both encircling, and they were talking and talking and talking. Meanwhile, Ginny’s mind was spinning and spinning and spinning, her breathing was abnormally ragged. The conversation had something to do with regret, soul and the power of a magnificent wand whose owner was… _Draco Malfoy._ Ginny thought she would faint again if things did not end _soon_ , whether for good or for evil.

         She suspected the effects of the blow on her head have been postponed due to the adrenaline and Malfoy’s spell, but now they were becoming too strong for her to think clearly. It seemed the end was near and, when she noticed Ron was beside her, Ginny leaned on his shoulder for support.

         Once again, everything was in slow motion: Voldemort’s lips uttered the killing curse.

         And Harry casted the flipping “ _Expelliarmus”._

         The spells have crossed; their wands exploded as if they were as resistant as a branch, and then chaos spread like wildfire.


End file.
